


A Dream in Rak'tika

by Moonfireflight



Series: A Living Epitaph, He [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: 5.0 spoilers, Ascians (Final Fantasy XIV), Consentacles, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Light Bondage, Nonsense, POV Second Person, Shadowbringers Spoilers, Tentacles, inappropriate use of magic, self-indulgent fantasy shenanigans that aren't even part of my already off canon story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-17 08:36:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21051458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonfireflight/pseuds/Moonfireflight
Summary: This is only tangentially part of this series. I'd briefly mentioned a fantasy that the WoL had once, and my goblin brain decided I needed to write it. If anything seems a bit off-character to start, remember that this is the WoL's fantasy. What's happening in the second part? -shrugs innocently-I consent to the OTW terms of service and explicitly deny rights to reprint, share, or redistribute this work on any platform not owned by OTW. #





	A Dream in Rak'tika

It’s not easy to see the newly recovered night sky through the expansive canopy of the Rak’tika Greatwood, but from this particular landing in the village of Fanow, you can see a wide black swath of it, glittering with twinkling stars. The forest itself has been a reprieve from the harsh Light you’d been fighting against, but this… You take a deep breath, willing the peace of the night to fill you. In that moment, the Light inside you stills its incessant gnashing against your breast. 

Soft footfalls approach, too light to be Thancred’s heavy gait, too slow to be Ryne’s furtive steps. You glance back in time to see Emet-Selch stroll up to lean against a support pillar a few feet from you. “Ah yes, the night sky is lovely, isn’t it? Darkness gently draped across the world, stars spread across it like jewels.” 

You try not to gawk at him, and manage to make a vague sound of agreeance. Shouldn’t he hate seeing evidence of his plans being unraveled? Yet when he’s calm like this, his voice is that of an ardent storyteller. That soothing timbre makes you want to follow along with his every word. When he opts to share your silent vigil, you find yourself glancing at him all too often. Though the stars are lovely, this is the first chance you’ve had to really look at him. You hadn’t found him classically handsome at your first meeting, perhaps because you weren’t able to see beyond him being one of your enemies. From his hunched posture and overall demeanor to the little hints he shares with you, it is undeniable that he’s suffered much in life takes pride in enduring it. Each layer of complexity you discover only makes him more fascinating. It’s good that none of the others are here to see you sneaking glances like this. You would never live it down. 

Emet-Selch turns at just the perfect moment to meet your gaze. You snap your eyes back up to the starry sky but his arched eyebrow and little smirk are clear as day even in your periphery. “Good to see you are taking a moment to enjoy the view. I worry that you work too hard. It’s not healthy, constantly scurrying around as you do.”

At that, you turn to him with a grin on your face. “You’re right. It is exhausting always having to stay a step ahead of Ascian meddling, a conquering empire, and beast tribes with a sudden fervor for summoning up their gods. Perhaps I should schedule a holiday.” 

He pushes himself away from the pillar and gives you a forced smile. “Indeed. Then I will leave you to it,  _ hero _ .” 

Mind and body together tense with sudden wordless anxiety at the thought of him leaving already, like an opportunity slipping from your grasp. The words are out of your mouth before you have time to question why. "Will you stay a moment and speak with me?"

He takes one more step before stopping, pausing, then turning to you with deliberate slowness, as if he were following stage directions. "Are you quite sure you're allowed to parlay with me without your chaperones?" You huff at his accusation, even if it’s entirely fair. But having a chance to talk with him without them interjecting and doubting his every word could be enlightening. He crosses his arms and looks away before continuing. "Besides, I grow weary of your questions."

Again, it feels like you’re losing him -  _ what?! _ \- and the weight of that singular fear lies heavy in your chest. "Wait! No questions then. Just... speak of whatever you wish. Anything."

"Hmmm. Then perhaps I…” 

“Ah, there you are! And the rat wearing Garlean frippery, too. Grand.” You cringe internally. Of all people, it had to be Thancred. He’s a dear friend, but while all the Scions are distrustful of Emet-Selch, he never shies away from being the loudest about it. 

You make a valiant effort to keep your irritation out of your voice. “Yes, and I was about to retire for the evening - unless there’s something pressing?” 

“No, no. All is well. I picked night watch duty so I was only starting my rounds.” Pointing his elbow at Emet-Selch, he asks, “Shall I lure him away from you with a piece of cheese?” 

Shaking your head, you reply, “Thancred. You know what I can do. If he’s bothering me, I will handle it.” 

Thancred holds his hands up defensively. “Alright. Be cautious about what you say around him if you are so intent on parleying with the enemy. We leave on the morrow.” He tips his head to only you and walks away. 

Entirely sure that he’ll vanish without a trace if you’re interrupted again, you’re struck with an incredibly daft idea. “Follow me,” you whisper fervently, grabbing Emet-Selch by the sleeve. You refuse to look back to see how he’s responding to your antics, but when you start to run, he follows behind. After crossing one of the swaying bridges, you catch sight of Ryne and duck behind a cluster of crates. You give it two breaths and, with the Ascian in tow, run the rest of the way to the cabin they've loaned you for the night. Once you’ve practically shoved him inside and made it in yourself, you shut the door and lock it. 

It’s only then, leaning with your back against the door and breathing hard, that you finally fathom just what you’ve done. By Emet-Selch’s bemused expression, there’s no doubt he too is questioning your hasty decision. You struggle to suppress the nervous laughter bubbling up in your chest, swallowing hard. 

“I was jesting about your chaperones, but I suppose sneaking away like young lovers is one way to handle the matter.” 

Heat rises to your cheeks at his insinuation. “That’s not…”

Whatever else you might have said dies in your throat as he lunges forward, filling your space. Leaning casually with one arm against the door, he’s close enough that his breath leaves a chill upon your lips. You’d noted the oddly bright shade of his eyes before, but now you spy flecks of gold within fathomless pools of amber. On a shallow inhale, you catch a hint of leather, of long dried flowers, upon an arcane undercurrent you cannot name - but you can feel it teasing at something you can’t recall, certainly not under his penetrating gaze. 

“Is it not? I've no need of sorcery,” he drawls, “ to catch the meaning in the way you look at me. And, oh! How fast your heart is beating right now.” His eyes narrow before he continues, and his voice takes on a dangerous edge. “Do us a favor and be honest with yourself at least if you won’t deign to give me that courtesy.” 

Honest? No defenses spring to your lips, only an undeniable urge that can be spoken only in action. Before your rational mind has a chance to intervene, you step forward and stand on your tiptoes so you can throw an arm around his neck and pull him down as you rise to kiss him. His body initially tenses, no doubt from shock, and for one terrible moment you’re sure he’ll push you away - but at last, you feel his lips moving eagerly against yours. The madness of it all makes your head spin, and, as if he knows, he anchors you with a hand at the small of your back. You give yourself over to sensation - to the tickle of fur, to the leather beneath your fingers and the warmth beneath it. Even more so when your tongues begin a frantic and needy dance. He tastes like the idea of fine wines and worn tomes and you gladly drink deep of him. 

He is the first to break the kiss, and you are transfixed by the smouldering fire behind his eyes. This is the first time you’ve dared to meet his gaze for more than a moment and any thoughts you might have had about his appearance are now set in stone - From the arch of his brows to the curve of his jaw, he’s unfairly handsome, leaving you breathless. When he speaks, his voice is lower than you’re used to hearing from him and the sound reverberates through your spine. “Be sure this is really what you want,  _ hero _ ... ” 

Your mind knows his words are a warning, but your body responds to the promise behind them. You place a hand on his chest and purr up at him, “I’m entirely sure.” The moment the words leave your mouth, your back slams against the door. The ferocity of his kiss leaves you lightheaded, and you slip your arms under his short coat so you can cling to him. He’s so warm… even knowing he was inhabiting a stolen body, you hadn’t expected the Ascian to feel so...  _ real _ . Your hands traverse his back, gripping the many layers of cloth still between your seeking touch and his skin. As though sensing your need, he pulls away just enough to rip his coat off and throw it across the small cabin before you crash together again. 

The door creaks against its hinges, and you both stop. The absurd grin he gives you and the thought of you breaking through the door and landing in a heap outside leaves you giggling. He checks the lock once more before taking your hand and pulling you toward the bed. 

Emet-Selch sits on the edge of it with you standing before him. He takes your hand, kissing each of your fingers in turn and mutters, “I suppose we had better be quiet, as much as I detest the idea. It wouldn’t do for your dear friends to know that you’re sleeping with the enemy.” 

You shake your head as you start toying with the collar of his robes. “I don’t… I don’t fully believe that you’re my enemy. Elidibus once said…” 

He barks out a laugh. “Elidibus says a great many things but none of them belong in my bed. Here, let me help you with this…” His garb, that of Garlean royalty, is many-layered and looks stifling. Watching him take his time undressing, making a production of removing every piece with care, and setting it to the side is its own wicked delight. When he sheds the last of the robes, leaving himself in nothing but trousers and boots, you suck in a breath at the sight of his unexpectedly muscular form. Trailing your fingers along his shoulders, you lean down to whisper in his ear, “Mmm, but now I feel like I’m at a disadvantage here…” 

“I assure you that won’t be a problem for long, but I plan to take my time…” He pulls you down for another kiss, and you let your hands greedily explore his musculature. Every time your distraction leads you to scrape your nails against him, you can feel his breath quicken. Inspired, you try something more intentional, clutching at the fine hairs at the nape of his neck, digging your nails in a little harder than before. His reaction is instant, moaning into your mouth and wending his fingers into the back of your robe. He pulls back and hisses, “Oh, you  _ do _ like to live dangerously, don’t you?” 

“Part of the job, so it seems,” you quip, letting your nails rake further up his scalp. 

With a snarl, Emet-Selch tightens his grip. You sense a building of aether, and it begins shivering through your clothing, tickling at your skin  _ everywhere _ , feather-light and teasing. He tugs at your robes again, and it  _ all _ falls apart around you in shreds, leaving you naked before him. 

With a laugh at your horrified gasp, he stands up, returning your torments by grabbing a fistful of hair at the base of your neck. Twisting his fingers through it to remove any slack, he tugs just enough to give you a sweet ache that sends heat rushing through your veins. “I had intended to strip you slowly tonight, but that shall have to wait for another time. A  _ shame _ .” He pulls harder, forcing you to bend to follow him, but never so much that it hurts more than you enjoy and always giving you time to accommodate. In moments, he has you on your knees before him. 

Your blush is so severe that it nearly stings when you realize how much you’re enjoying his games. How long ago was it that you would have wanted to slap such a proud grin off his face? Now with him looking down at you like you’re a conquered foe, it’s only fuel for the fire building low in your belly. 

He releases the hold he has on you, running his fingers through your hair. His touch is so gentle and so much like being petted that you’re torn between wanting to fight him for patronizing you and…  _ dammit _ , you’re enjoying this just as much as his rougher treatment. He hops back up on the bed and you nuzzle against his leg as he continues his sweet affection. Lost as you are, you barely hear it when he asks, “Would you be so kind as to help me out of the rest of this, my dear?” 

“Hmm?” 

One of his boots presses down on your thigh, not enough to hurt but to make a point. “Starting with these, if you don’t mind.” His words catch up to you and you grip his boot by the heel, waiting for him to move so you can help him out of it. Smirking down at you, Emet-Selch leans more weight into it, twisting slightly. The pain, the humiliation of acting as a servant to one of the Ascian Paragons, no matter how charming… leaves you biting your lip to keep from moaning loudly. He lets up, giving you space to work and you set his boot to the side and go to work on the other. “Good,” he purrs down at you. There’s a sense that he’s holding back, that he wanted to say more. Doubtless taunting you for your ready subservience. And yet, he leaves it at praising you.  _ Interesting… _

He stands again, tall and proud, making your next goal clear. When you fix your eyes on his trousers, a shiver runs down your back at the delightfully tangible proof of his excitement. Driven by your ardor and no small amount of curiosity, you undo his pants and slide them down over his hips, along with his smalls. “You  _ mortals _ , always in a hurry,” he says, but there’s no cruelty in his tone. The breathy laugh that follows adds an air of melancholy fondness to his words. 

Grinning up at him, you place one hand on his bare hip and lightly graze the underside of his cock with the other, making him groan. “For some things, yes. Others are worth savoring, though.” Your words, more than your touch, make him stumble back to sitting on the bed again. You follow, kneeling between his legs, trailing your fingers all over his muscular thighs and calves. For all his napping and purported preference of idleness, he’s built solidly in all the right ways. As you plant soft kisses on the inside of his thighs, you feel a hesitant touch brush over your hair. He makes no move to force you into anything, but it’s clear that you’re teasing him enough to make him consider it. 

You toy with him like this until you feel his fingers twitch, just on the verge of losing his control, before holding his cock in a loose grip and kissing the tip of it. He falls back on the bed with an exhalation that ends in a quiet moan. As you take him into your mouth and hear his hands scrabbling for purchase on the bed, you can’t help but feel that in serving him, you are absurdly powerful. An ancient sorcerer… this mysterious being whose origins he’s only hinted at, and he’s hopelessly enslaved to every flick of your tongue. 

Once you settle into a rhythm, taking your time, learning what he likes, he sits up. You can’t see his face when you glance up at him, the room’s shadows keeping his expression hidden. Instead, you feel him brush a stray lock out of your eyes then resumes running his fingers through your hair. If only you could see his face or know what he was thinking… He’d said “another time,” implying he already wanted to repeat what you thought was a one-sided fling. 

“This is,” he says, pausing for a breath, “ _ lovely _ . Pray, stop for a moment, though.” You make a show of it, letting him slide out of your mouth an inch at a time, keeping what you hope is eye contact. His voice comes strained and higher than you’ve heard yet. “Wicked little minx, aren’t you?” 

You chuckled. Not usually. Only he has inspired you so, but telling him that would surely add to his insufferable arrogance. Emet-Selch shakes his head, letting you catch a glimpse of his smile. Once he’s moved further up the bed, he crooks his finger, and you let him summon you to his side. He gathers you up in his arms, kissing you with a passion that sets you aflame. He holds you like he never wants to let you go and you sigh his name against his lips, delighting in his attention. 

His hands rove over your body, his touch… hungry. In an effort to spur him on, you tease at his back with your nails. The more he writhes against you, the braver you get until his fingers find their way between your legs and your nails bite into his flesh on reflex. “No more of that,” he growls. “Not for now, in any case.” He swiftly pins your arms above your head despite your, admittedly, half-hearted struggles against him. Emet-Selch leans down and speaks low, his lips a hairsbreadth from your ear. “I wish to focus on  _ you _ .” 

Keeping your arms in place with one hand, he sits up, tapping his chin. “Now, you’ve proven yourself to be impossible, uncontrollable. I’ll have you know, I wouldn’t have you any other way, but for now…” He grins, silently holding your gaze as your anticipation builds and you tremble from his earlier teasing touch. Finally, he snaps his fingers, the sound echoing through your room. Unnatural red light fills your vision briefly and you feel something wend its way around your wrists, binding them together. Whatever it is, it’s strangely soft, feeling almost alive in the way it undulates, tightening when you give it any space to do so. “Don’t worry, my dear. I may yet show you what’s keeping you restrained, but it’s best not to think about it at the moment.” 

As curious as you are, simply being bound and at the mercy of his unpredictable ardor, and now, his wicked sorcery is wonderfully infuriating. He watches you as you squirm, his expression fond if more than a little smug. For a moment, you fear he’s going to make you beg for his touch, and you have no doubt you would. Your imagined pleas play in your mind, ready to spill from your lips if he’d only ask, but instead, they become a broken moan when his fingers delve between your legs again. 

From his position, leisurely resting on one elbow next to you, his bangs draped over one eye, he watches your every reaction. He sets a maddeningly slow pace that has you aching for more pressure, more contact. Your hands fight against their mysterious bindings as you yearn to pull him flush against you and let your heat crash against his. You spread your legs wide for him, lifting up your hips to meet his touch, but still, he denies you the intensity you need. Clearly enjoying your sweet torment, smirks down at you. “My, my. Does something vex thee?” 

You whimper and struggle as tension builds within you, smouldering. "You’re… teasing me!" Your words come out as a needy whine, and your face burns with shame. 

"...And?" He slows yet more, giving you only feather-light strokes over your folds. The thing binding your wrists squirms, tightening its grasp on you just shy of pain, while Emet-Selch grins wickedly. You are well beyond being able to reply in any meaningful way other than shaking your head in annoyance and snapping your hips up again to chase his teasing fingers. 

"Now is not the time to return to brooding silence, my dear. Tell me exactly what you want,  _ every _ sordid detail. Have you forgotten that as an Ascian, I have powers far beyond your understanding? Tell me what you wish for, and it is my will.” 

You grit your teeth, again fighting with the urge to beg him to take you. The reminder of his nature ignites a shameful pleasure within, bringing you closer to the edge despite him denying you what you need. "Damn you, Emet-Selch"

"I’m reasonably sure you already consider me damned, hmm?” Leaning in close again, he hisses into your ear, “Now, tell me what you want."

The tease of his lips at your ear is enough to finally break your stubborn resolve. “Please! I’m so close. It’s not enough… faster! Harder! I want to come undone at your touch!”

Emet-Selch’s arrogant grin softens. “Such an impassioned request! Do be cautious with your words, or I might begin to think that you fancy me.” 

Any reply you could formulate is cut off by Emet-Selch plunging two fingers into your slick depths. You fall back down to the bed, the euphoria of finally getting what you wanted washing over you. Clearly, he’s done toying with you, thrusting mercilessly. You wrench your arms against whatever holds them in place, wishing you could do something to stifle the lewd little whimpers that leave your mouth as pleasure coils ever tighter within you. Seemingly understanding your wishes, or merely giving in to his own needs, he kisses you as you ride out your orgasm, moaning against his lips. 

He gives you no time to come down from it, smearing your juices over your folds and rubbing small and furtive circles around your clit. You’re already wound far too tight and his every touch screams through you. It takes all of your training and strength of will to stay quiet under his onslaught as you convulse from his ministrations. You’re so close to the edge again, but your nerves are on fire and despite how desperate you are for release, your body fights it. Pressing your thighs together does little to stop him, but you can’t help it. 

“My, my. Whatever am I do to with you? Still struggling, even though your eyes are begging me to take you.” Despite his incorrigible words, his voice holds a measure of affection. 

Still, “It’s too much!” you hiss back at him. 

“Surely you, a seasoned warrior, the hero of two worlds, can handle this... “ You shake your head, your lower body twisting to escape his touch.  _ If he would just slow down again, dammit!  _ “Of course you can. Here, let me help.” 

Emet-Selch bends down to kiss you again, and even with your eyes closed you catch a hint of red. The hairs on your arms stand at attention as aether crackles through the air. Then, you feel it. There’s no other way to describe it than something  _ slithering  _ over your thighs, worming its way between your legs and wrapping around each one of them. Your eyes snap open and you try to escape his kiss to demand an explanation, but he gives you no quarter. Whatever is coiled around your legs  _ pulls _ , spreading them apart to give him full access to you again. At the mercy of his infernal magic and insistent touch, you tumble over the edge, writhing helplessly and cursing under your breath. 

This time he allows you a moment to recover, caressing your cheek and muttering praises. As his fingers lightly tease over your sensitive flesh again, he speaks. “You seem to be enjoying my creations. I’ve a mind to try something else if you are willing. May I?” 

_ Did he mean the things holding you in place?  _ “Your creations? I…” You should refuse. You  _ should  _ be horrified that he’s using some kind of ghastly sorcery on you, but it’s impossible to deny that the implied danger had incited a conflagration within you. Of course, you’re curious as to what else an Ascian can do that others cannot. “Show me.” 

He kisses your forehead, then moves to sit between your legs. “Look at me,” he whispers. He passes his hand over his eyes, revealing his glowing red glyph. Seeing it so closely fills you with a dreadful fascination. “Do you trust me not to harm you?” 

You absolutely shouldn’t, but the reasons why seem distant and fragile. “I trust you,” you reply with a nod. 

He braces himself in front of you on his knees and one hand, the other rubbing at your entrance. You feel two fingers press into you, slowly this time. He grazes a spot inside that sends a deep, thrumming pleasure through you. Then, something else presses at your slit, twisting around his fingers until it begins to find its way in. Like the things around your legs and wrists, it’s warm, and it feels alive, pulsing and squirming. “ _ What?!”  _ you cry, as dread bubbles up inside of you. 

“Shh, you’re safe, I swear it. Try and relax for once.”

_ Relax?  _ You’re being  _ invaded  _ by some unholy aberration! You thrash against his vile magics, succeeding in nothing but tiring yourself out. As you slump against the bed again, you have no choice but to focus on Emet-Selch’s creation. It wriggles beyond the reach of his fingers, which he removes from you and…  _ oh. _ The writhing thing inside you swells, filling you up deliciously. It seeks out the same spot his fingers had reached earlier and hones in on it, pulsing, almost vibrating against it. Your fear crumbles away as unstoppable waves of euphoria ripple through you. 

When you manage to pry your eyes open briefly, you catch him gazing down at you with a small smile on his lips, his eyes half-closed. He lets his fingers trail over your thighs while his creation wriggles and twists within you. “You paint such a beautiful picture like this, my dear,” he says with a quiet hum. “But when I take you, I want you unrestrained in every way…” The promise he utters tips you over the edge, your body bucking in time with the undulating tentacle as you clamp your lips together to muffle your cries. Emet-Selch snaps his fingers, dismissing his spell, leaving your walls clenching around nothing, to your disappointment. 

Without giving you a moment to catch your breath, he moves to your side and picks you up. You wrap your arms around his neck automatically, though the hand at your back and that behind your knees hold you solidly. For the briefest of moments, you fear he’s going to barge out the door with you and announce your tryst to all of Fanow. “Come with me,” he asks, voice thick with emotion. Filaments of black and purple surround his form as well as yours and something pulls at you, as if a hand grips you by the inside of your breastbone, tugging insistently. 

He intends to steal you away to some unknown location and have his way with you, that much is clear. You’ve long left behind any shred of propriety or prudence already. Giving in to that pull and letting him  _ take you _ sounds…  _ so sweet.  _ “I will, gladly, Emet-Selch.” 

With a kiss to your forehead, he pulls you closer to him, and steps into the rift. 

The cozy cabin vanishes in a surge of darkness and the world seems to hold its breath but for a deep and distant thrumming. Panic flares within you when you realize you can no longer feel Emet-Selch. Even your sense of self seems tenuous as if you are merely a concept floating in nothingness. “...’nother moment more. Hold…” Though faint, you catch a few syllables through the churning darkness, holding onto it until the dark gives way to pale green light. 

You open your eyes to a room fit for royalty. Walls of dark wood inlaid with intricate bronze designs like none you’ve seen before surround you. One wall is taken up almost entirely by a massive window of sea-green glass, though whatever lies beyond it is indistinct - a wavering blur that almost hurts your eyes when you try to focus upon it. Emet-Selch carefully lets you down, holding you as you find your feet on the plush carpet. You admire his muscular form as he climbs up on the bed, reclining against a veritable mountain of pillows. There’s a regal air about him that you can’t deny, even bereft of his finery. 

Twining your fingers with the hand he offers you, you join him on the bed. As much as you want to ask him where you are, there are more pressing matters - The need to quell the emptiness he left within you earlier, and the magnetic pull of his very being are urges you’ve no desire to fight any longer. By linked hands and gentle touches, he guides you until you are kneeling over his hips. His fingertips brush your cheek and he beckons you down with him to meet his lips in a slow and passionate kiss. His hands roam over your shoulders and down your back, exploring your form with surprising tenderness. 

You wonder at his change in demeanor but have no desire to question it and break whatever enchantment has captured him, for you are under its spell as well. When a light press at your shoulder steers you to break the kiss and sit up again, your heart flutters at the nigh worshipful way he gazes at you. 

There’s a shift in the energy between you and it leaves you feeling lightheaded, floating in a timeless space made for only the two of you - One expected to be a hero, and one who should by all rights be a foe… Yet, the very idea of any animosity between your two souls seems an atrocity here, and you cast the loathsome thought aside by grasping his hands again and peppering feather-light kisses along his knuckles. He closes his eyes and sighs, looking relaxed for the first time since you’ve met him. 

A fleeting image blinks through your thoughts - Were it not for the trailing locks of his long white hair shining in the moonlight, you might have missed him reclining high up on a grassy hill above the city and… As swiftly as it came to you, the vision flees, leaving you dizzy. “Is aught amiss?” he asks, genuine concern in his voice. 

“It was nothing - a dream within a dream, perhaps... ” 

“Then let it distract you not.” Emet-Selch gives you a lopsided grin, placing his hands on your hips, a subtle gesture that brings you back to the enticing reality of the man beneath you. 

You drag your hand down his chest, purring, “Nothing could distract me from this. From you.” He sucks in a hissing breath as your nails dance along his abs, his muscles trembling almost imperceptibly in the wake of your touch. Bowing over him, you grip his length, running your fingers over it, hot iron wrapped in silk. Time slows to a fine focus in this liminal space you’ve created with Emet-Selch, that he’d brought you to - between the achingly familiar and the strange decadence you give yourself over to, swirling the head of his cock through your sopping folds. Between teasing and taking…  _ Gods, have you ever wanted someone so desperately?  _

If you thought him merely handsome before, now laid out beneath you, hiding nothing from you in his naked delirium, he is a  _ masterpiece _ . He throws an arm over his face, the back of his wrist pressed to his lips to stifle his moans. His other hand leaps up, fingers grasping at the air. The knowledge that he craves this as keenly as you do surges through you, scattering any remaining vestiges of restraint you’d been clinging to. You remember why he brought you here, and want him to share in the freedom of this place. “Don’t hold back,” you manage to say before finally lowering yourself down upon him, letting him fill you. 

And it is sublime - the two of your gasp in shared satisfaction as your hips meet his. Your mind reels, and you know there’s  _ something _ you’re forgetting but all you want is to  _ feel _ right now, yet you can’t cast aside the thought that this is almost  _ too perfect _ . Of course,  _ it’s a dream. _ If a dream, it is one that has been dreamt for eons, finally come to sweet fruition as you begin to move, relishing in heat and fullness. His name echoes off the walls between your moans, drips from the ceiling, covers you, a wild warrior reveling in ecstasy. You feel his hands on your hips, yet he does not fight to set the pace. 

Perhaps it is a mortal failing on your part but you’ve no ability to savor this. When your name crosses his lips for the first time, you plant a hand on his chest and impale yourself on his cock, crying out in wordless satisfaction. Emet-Selch’s eyes snap open and his expression is utterly indecent, matching his shuddering moan. You set a brutal pace that he matches effortlessly. When he begins bucking up into you as you fall upon him, the subtle change in angle takes you to new echelons of pleasure, hitting some secret space within your depths. Each thrust reverberates through your entire being, delicious tension building without ceasing until tears sting at the corners of your eyes from the sheer intensity of it. 

Emet-Selch reaches up, fingers grazing your cheek before coming to rest again on your hips. “You are…  _ magnificent _ .” His awestruck praise is enough to undo you at last, floating and falling at once. The moment you still to ride out your orgasm, he takes over, gripping your hips and guiding you down again and again - slower now, but deeper, harder. He gazes up at you, his expression that of pure euphoria. From his slightly parted lips dribble forth adorations - how ravishing you look like this, how he needs more, and it will never be enough. It’s all so dizzying, goading the fires within you back to a fever pitch. 

You crash together once more and he cries out, fingers digging hard into your flesh as he locks you in place. With each rolling shudder of his body, his cock pulses within you, flooding you with his release as a quiet aftershock rumbles through you. For several moments, you both simply catch your breath, reveling in sensation and surely, wondering at what the other is thinking.

There’s no room in his eyes for deception, so full are they with open adoration and wonder. Emet-Selch takes your hands in his with such care, as if they might crumble at his touch. His lips part as if he is about to speak, but you can see he’s fighting some invisible war inside and he chooses silence. That he’s suffered for so long is obvious, and you can’t help wanting to give him some salvation from it. “Please tell me - whatever is on your mind, I wish to know... ”

He looks away for a moment and takes a deep breath before meeting your eyes again. His voice is hardly a whisper when he speaks at last. “Tell me you remem…” His lips continue to move, but you hear nothing over the sudden rhythmic crashing sound that fills the space. 

“No! What is this? Why can’t I hear you?” There’s a sensation of floating, of being stolen away, as if some cruel giant grabs you and pulls you from the room. Emet-Selch reaches towards you, silently pleading, growing further away until…

There’s another knock on the door, then a voice. “Is aught alright? I thought I heard you shouting.” 

You blink as the fantastical room fades away, leaving you sprawled out on the low mattress in your borrowed cabin room. There was a voice… Y’shtola? Your face burns as you wonder what exactly she heard that caused her to check on you. “All is well! I must have had a nightmare. Sorry to worry you!” 

There’s a pause before she responds, and you hold your breath while waiting to be chastised. “After everything you’ve been through, I’m not surprised. May the rest of the night be calm and quiet for you, then.” 

“Appreciate it!” 

As you exhale in a relieved  _ whoosh _ , your eyes rove through the room and you're embarrassed to see what a mess it is. Your pillow is several feet from the mattress, and your clothing was flung haphazardly over the back of a chair, one sleeve pooling on the floor. The thin blanket you were given is twisted up into a ball and tangled around one of your legs. You must have fallen asleep while fantasizing about him but…  _ what was that dream?! _

Your mind summons up the scene again, though the beautiful bedroom he’d taken you to is indistinct. Details flit away from your vision when you try to focus on them, fading to nothing. “ _ No!”  _ you cry, slamming your fist down upon the bedding. Without warning, tears begin trickling down your cheeks as an aching hole seems to open in your chest. Emptiness, like a piece of your soul is missing.  _ Why?! That dream was just… a perverted fantasy, right? Then why does it hurt so much to wake from and have lost?  _

  
Once the unbidden tears have run their course, still without answers, you let sleep take you again. No remembered dreams greet you at dawn - only the knowledge that you must press on regardless. ...And the realization that you’ll have to somehow face  _ him _ again after last night. 


End file.
